


Family Time

by theoreticallychaotic



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Family Fluff, M/M, Mostly Modern AU, Some Canon AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:50:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoreticallychaotic/pseuds/theoreticallychaotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sweet variety of fills written for several KM prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lessons to Learn

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Cosette confessing to Javert that she got in trouble at school, as young kids are wont to (nothing serious, minor telling off or perhaps a small note to her parents), and being very upset about that because she broke 'the law' (school rules) and she knows how angry he gets when people break the law.

Javert knew something wasn’t right the moment he had entered the kitchen. Cosette, unaware of his presence, pushed the peas and fish finger morsels mindlessly around her plate; her manner was quiet and her tear brimmed brown eyes appeared even bigger. 

“Is she okay?” Javert quietly mouthed to Valjean.

Valjean shook his head as he continue to stir the pan on the hob. “She’s been like it since I picked her up from school” he whispered to Javert who had sidled up to him.  
Javert drew his mouth into a tight line, perplexed. “She refuses to tell me why she’s so upset.” Valjean added.

Javert nodded his head once before he turned and strode over to Cosette, still sitting forlornly at the dining table. 

“Cosette,” Javert tempered his voice to be a kind as he knelt down beside her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and immediately felt Cosette stiffen. He aimed to be gentle but got no further as the now-trembling blonde burst into tears; fat droplets slid from her eyes accompanied by deeps sobs that racked her tiny body. “Darling,” Javert opened his arms to hug her to him only for the still-sobbing girl to duck from his grasp and bolt form the kitchen altogether. Javert would have sworn his heart splintered into stabbing fragments at that. Still squatting by the table, he dropped his head and sighed heavily. 

“I’ll see to her,” Valjean had joined Javert and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

“No,” Javert said, his voice wavering on another sigh, “I’m evidently the problem. It’s for me to put right.”

Cosette was still crying fervently when Javert slipped into the bedroom; her back was turned to him and she hugged the pillow, now sopping with her sadness, tight to her, her sobs barely muffled. The floorboard creaked as he neared her bed; the groan of the floor prompted her to roll over, she was too young to comprehend hiding the fear in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” another huge sob, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry…” Her chanting of ‘sorrys’ and ‘daddies’ ran on, punctured by loud sobs. 

Javert settled onto the edge of the bed; the mattress dipped under his broad build and he was quite aware of how out of place he must have looked in his dark and crisp uniform set against the piles of pink and fluff that decorated Cosette’s room. He was more confused than ever; what he had done to upset her so he could not fathom – and to the point that she referred to him as ‘daddy’ for the first time in her life. How bemused he must look to her with wide blue eyes and mouth slack as he feebly stroked her hair. 

“Please, Cosette,” he glided a large hand over her hair once again, his slender fingers trailing through the gold waves. His touch earned another flinch from his daughter and bubbled another sigh from himself. “Cosette!” his voice lost its temperance and sharply pierced the air. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

With his height and strength to his advantage, Javert almost effortlessly reached out and dragged Cosette into his lap. Though she flailed her arms and legs, he was able to tactfully grapple and hug her to him. He rocked back and forth slowly, arms around her, hands stopping her limbs lashing out; her head turned inwards to his chest as she continued to weep. They stayed like that for a while; Cosette sobbing and Javert rocking to and fro until, finally, Cosette managed to murmur through her stuttering cries.

“Speak up, Cosette.” Javert pressed himself to speak with a firm tenderness.

“I broke the law.” Cosette confessed into Javert’s uniform.

Javert’s brown knotted in confusion, his lips parted. She was only six years old – what on earth could a six year old do that would constitute breaking the law? 

“Please don’t be mad, father.” Cosette balled a wet patch of his uniform in her fist. “I didn’t mean to do it.” The crying started anew.

Javert glanced at the clock when Valjean eventually joined them; Javert had been trying to soothe their daughter for the better part of an hour when his partner came to him with the note he’d found in Cosette’s schoolbag. Javert shooed Valjean away and, arms circled around the whimpering Cosette, quickly cast his eye over it. Though it contained no new information, it confirmed what Cosette had gradually found the courage to confess to Javert about the small scuffle that had started over a book.

“You realise it was wrong of you to hit Jacques, don’t you?”

“Yes, father.” Cosette’s tears had ceased and voice was small.

“And you promise not to do it again?”

“Yes, father.”

He hugged her a little tighter then; his heart surged as she nuzzled against him. “Cosette,” Javert’s voice was pensive, “did you really think you broke the law?”

Cosette toyed with a button on Javert’s uniform: “The teacher said I broke a rule and I know you don’t like it when people break rules, and the rules are like the law, and I thought you was going to be really mad at me and do to me what you do to all those bad people and…” 

Javert was stunned: no wonder she’d been near terrified of him if she thought that he would lock his handcuffs around her wrists and put her alone in a cell. Javert’s own eyes turned sad as he dipped his head to look directly at her: “Do you think I would do that to you?” When Cosette didn’t answer, Javert swept a kiss across her head, “I love you, Cosette; I could never do that to you.” He paused for a moment to straighten his back, then, “One more thing,” 

Cosette tiled her head to look up at him, her large eyes puppyish in their appearance.

“Will you call me ‘daddy’? – It sounds much nicer than Father.”


	2. What the Night Brings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little something that my own muse insisted I write...

The door creaked open, rousing Javert from his light slumber. He was still slightly bleary-eyed as he lifted his head from the table (lord, he must have dozed off after Valjean had stormed to bed) and, with the silver moonlight peeking through the window, made out the silhouette of Cosette framed in the doorway, teddy-bear in hand, its feet scuffing along the floor.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked gruffly.

Cosette’s voice quavered, “I had a bad dream.”

“Ah.” He held his arms out, “Come here, sweetheart.” 

The teddy bounced behind Cosette as she tottered over to Javert. He swept her into his lap in one easy movement. “Now, what was this dream?” He righted her pink and purple nighty and stroked a tender hand over her hair.

Cosette snuggled further into his arms: “There was a skeleton and he tried to lock me in a box.”

“Ah.” He clipped again. “Well, you’re safe now. Besides, if that were to happen, the skeleton would have to fight me first.”

Javert’s lips pulled into a taut smile as he felt a giggle shake Cosette. 

“Daddy,” Cosette asked after a short silence between them, “why was you and Papa shouting earlier?”

Javert felt his heart drop; she’d heard the row that had erupted after Valjean had put her to bed. “Well…” How should he explain it to her? Maybe he should tell her to ask Valjean, he’d have the right words for her. 

“Do you still love Papa?” Cosette cut into his thoughts.

“Of course I do. I love both of you.”

“You’re not going to leave?”

God, she’d heard his off-the-cuff threat to walk out. Javert gently rested his chin on her shoulder: “I’m staying right here, Cosette.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, Cosette yawned as he did so. “Shall I take you back to bed?”

Cosette nodded and slithered from his lap, her teddy-bear hanging loyally by her side once more. Javert got to his feet, causing the chair to squeal against the flagstones; Cosette cupped her hands over her ears and creased her eyes shut. When she dared to open them again she found Javert was looking back at her comically-aghast with wide eyes and hand flat to an equally wide mouth earning another giggle.

“Can you show me the stars?” The shimmering light from outside caught Cosette’s attention.

“We really should go to bed, Cosette.”

Cosette’s eyes expanded and Javert could do little else but scoop Cosette into his arms, her clothing a contrast to his dark sweatpants and white t-shirt. “Don’t tell Papa.” Javert whispered conspiratorially as he unlocked the door. He stepped barefoot onto the dry grass with Cosette balanced on hip. He kept one arm wrapped around her back while pointing at the sky with his other. He never tired of doing this with her – teaching her of dragons and cats and dogs and mythical creatures. “…and that’s Orion – see the three stars that make up his belt and sword?”

Cosette nodded.

“And those stars there,” he guided the little girl’s gaze to another cluster of bright orbs, “is the bear I told you about last time.”

“Does he have a sore head, too?” Cosette asked innocently, “Like Papa said you did.”


	3. Sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A canon divergent interlude and another from my muse, partly from a very odd dream where I ended up watching a film with no real plot and Philip Quast as a modern day Javert cuddling a baby and lecturing two irate woman on how to be good parents and partly from hearing PQ sing a reworked take of 'Colour and Light' - a song that ends with the line 'I could look at him [his newborn son] forever' and took what I was writing in a completely unplanned direction.

It was another hot night; the coverlet had long been discarded but the smothering blanket of warmth remained. Javert sleepily shuffled across the bed like a nesting mouse, in search of a cool spot. There. He’d found it. A spot large enough to house his broad, six foot plus frame. A spot that was usually occupied by Jean. His consciousness, though heavy with fatigue, roused firstly in puzzlement then concern at the shrill cry that pierced his ears. That was right. Cosette. Heavy-limbed and sluggish, Javert shirked on his lightweight nightshirt and padded across to the stairs. He re-tied his straggly, mussed hair into a rough queue as he descended and entered the sitting room. Two lit candles stood like sentries at either end of the mantelpiece whilst Jean paced a circle in the middle of the room as he tried to pacify the howling infant held to his chest.

“God Jean, have you not slept?!” Javert noted that Jean was still mostly dressed save for a cravat and bare feet. “It’s near three o’clock.” He held his arms out; “Give her to me.”

“It’s fine,” Jean rubbed his hand over Cosette’s back in a soothing gesture, “I’m sure she’ll calm soon enough.”

Jean couldn’t deny the disbelief that glinted in Javert’s eyes. Javert folded his arms across his chest and Jean had to further admit that even when dressed in naught but a flimsy nightshirt Javert cut an imposing figure. 

“Jean,” Javert’s firmed his voice, “This is the fourth night in a row and even Saints need sleep.” He stepped closer to his partner and gestured once more to take Cosette.

“You will be alright?” Jean looked at Javert, his eyes ringed with darkness and vision blearing with exhaustion. 

Javert rolled his eyes, “I’ve taken charge of some of the most dangerous men in France before now, Jean. Now,” here he cupped his large hands around the sobbing baby and tucked her into the crook of his arm. “And you’re not to stir before sunrise.” He spoke low against Jean’s lips before dismissing him with a kiss.

Javert remained standing in the middle of the room and rocked rhythmically on his feet – an action that satisfied Cosette somewhat - as he listened to Jean tread wearily up the stairs then the tell-tale creak of the floorboard at the side of the bed. Satisfied that Jean had obeyed, Javert snuffed out each candle with a light breath and settled himself and a still whimpering Cosette in the wing-backed chair near the window under the watch of the night sky. Almost without awareness he began to sing softly to her – lyrics about stars; a song and a vague memory from when he was no more than four or five. He repeated the song and the rocking motion until he was sure Cosette was sleeping deeply; though tired himself he refused to make for bed, instead entranced by the baby asleep in his arms. In the halo of moonlight he took in every small detail – the wisps of golden curls, her long eyelashes that even fluttered as she slept, fragile fingers clenched around his index finger, her gentle rise and fall with each delicate breath. An unfamiliar warmth swelled in his heart and he awkwardly whispered something that he had not heard before Jean turned his life inside out and upside down:

“I love you.”


	4. Lions, Tigers, Javert...Oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Valjean always though Javert wasn't really affectionate to Cosette, so gets the surprise of his life when he comes home and spies them playing in the lounge. I will love the filler if they have Javert being an elephant, giving Cosette a ride (anyone who's a PQ fan will get the reference.

“No, Cosette,” Javert forced his exasperated growl into an audible exhale. “We can’t go to the Jardin des Plantes today.”

Cosette bunched her small, reedy body into the corner of the chaise and doubled her arms defiantly. “But I want to see the animals!” Cosette whined. “You and Papa said we could.”

“And we will. Just not today.”

“Why?!” Cosette’s voice maintained its pitch.

Javert strove to focus on his work as he replied: “It’s too late today, Cosette. Besides, we can’t go without Papa.”

“But I want to see the lions.” 

Javert thrust his pen down, lying in defeat below his barricade of paperwork. He turned in his seat; Cosette was staring back at him, her eyes bright and watery, enough to burn through Javert’s icy irritation. The beginnings of an idea brightened in Javert’s mind and muted his harsh expression. Relaxing his knotted brow and curling his lips that had been pressed in a hard line, he stood and knelt in front of Cosette, the floorboards cold and rough under his knees. “Here, Cosette,” he took hold of her hand, dwarfed by his own large one, and lead it to the back of his head, “untie the ribbon.”

Cosette remained immovable, her hand stiff and frozen over the ribbon.

“Go on” he encouraged, gently. 

Cosette tugged the ribbon and watched as Javert shook his hair loose, strands of silver shimmered in the dull winter light, before he proceeded to roar, loud and deep, with all the intimidating manner of a lion (Javert wouldn’t admit that his years of commanding criminals were a benefit here). 

“There” Javert flicked his hair clear of his eyes, “you’ve seen a lion.”

Cosette giggled, gleefully. “Now I want to see a tiger.”

Javert halted, not expecting to be given a request. 

“A tiger.” Cosette reiterated. She shuffled forward, reached for Javert’s hand and held it aloft, “With big paws.”

Javert felt a smile unfurl; he’d oft heard his junior officers compare him with this particular animal – a wolf was also a common comparison – but had never consciously tried to imitate one until now. He mimicked several growls, opening his mouth wide, clawed his hand and swiped it through the air a number of times as Cosette’s giggles became continuous. 

***

Valjean, returning from a day helping to nourish and nurture the destitute of Paris, hustled into the hallway, quickly shut the heavy door to the winter air and dusted the smattering of snowflakes from his greatcoat. The first thing he registered was not the welcoming warmth or cosy candlelight, but Cosette’s laughter – a bubbling stream of delight trickling through the house – and…, well, a noise that Valjean couldn’t apply a label to. It sounded vaguely of human origin but, he thought, a human that was incapacitated in some way. Valjean shuffled off his greatcoat and hooked it next to Javert’s.

“I’m home.” he called. 

Valjean paused and it fast became evident that his greeting had been smothered by the endless flow of laughter and unusual noises – A roar? A growl? Had it not been for the laughter, he would have been alarmed. Instead, he felt perplexed; he had never heard Cosette laugh and cheer as much as she was doing now, especially in Javert’s company. He stalked down the hallway, loosening the buttons of his shirt and stringing free his cravat as he did so, and halted on the threshold of the sitting room:

“You need to be a parrot, now.” Cosette informed Javert.

Javert paused, hand suspended in mid-air. “A parrot?” 

Cosette dragged at the thick woollen blanket that hung over the back of the chaise and laboriously unfolded it until it was more than her total length. She swung off the chaise as Javert remained knelt on the floor, watching as the seeds in her mind grew to fruition: awkwardly, Cosette hauled the heavy cloth up over Javert’s back and hooked a corner over each of his broad shoulders and tented the middle over his head; skewed in such a way that it near covered his left eye. A proud smile warmed Cosette’s expression, framed by loose blonde curls, as she stepped back and admired her artistry: dark trousers, white shirt and grey waistcoat shrouded in stripes of cream and hues of blue varying from cornfield to almost sapphire; a perfect match to Javert’s eyes.

“You’re a pretty parrot.” she announced at the sight of Javert. 

***

Valjean, pressing his forearm hard to his mouth and imprisoning a laugh, took a step back, retreating into the shadows; he giggled at length into the crook of his arm, smothering his mirth into silence. When he at last composed himself his eyes widened and a smile as big as his heart filled his face as he returned to observing the scene through the sliver of space between the door and its frame: Cosette, side-saddling and lavender dress neatly flounced, was astride Javert’s back as the latter, with a handkerchief draped from each ear, crawled a lap of the room on his hands and knees (Javert would complain about the pain in his joints later). 

“Again!” Cosette begged, patting one of his downy sideburns. 

With no objection Javert began another circuit. Through the veil of hair, Valjean could discern Javert puffing and panting somewhat as he inched along the length of the chaise, the tips of his shoes scraping along the floor. Valjean suspected Javert’s hands and knees were being rubbed raw against the friction of fabric and floor and, though Cosette was petite, his posture sagged a little, proving even Javert’s robust build was not infallible. 

“Papa!” Cosette exclaimed, spying Valjean in the doorway, as Javert lagged a corner. “Javert’s pretending to be an Elephant” she explained excitedly.

She slithered from Javert’s back and ran across the room, leaving Javert on all fours, breathing hard. Valjean looked to Javert:

“What on earth a-”

“Come, Papa” Cosette reached for his hand. “What animal do you want to be?”

“She wanted to go to the zoo.” Javert wheezed as he pulled himself to kneel and yanked the fabric free from his ears.

“You can be a bear.” Cosette said. “I’ve not seen a bear.”

Valjean’s eyes flitted between his partner and their daughter, unsure of what he should do. 

“Yes, Jean,” Javert goaded with a smile that lacked humility as he brushed his sore hands, “I’ve not seen a bear either.


	5. New Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris-era setting for a prompt which wanted something based on Philip Quast's 'New Words'.

That Javert should find himself father to a young boy and one not of his own begetting was, to say the least, surprising. Tucked away in his office and hunched over his paperwork one icy winter’s evening he heard a cry much too young to belong to those who normally occupied the desolate cells. Trailing the sound like a hound on a scent, Javert happened upon two of his officers escorting a male child, whom he suspected to be no more than three years old, scraggly, snivelling and shivering beneath a dusting of snowflakes. 

“The cells are no place for a child.” Javert reprimanded sternly as he reached for the child and balanced him on his hip. “I would know.”

For that first night in Javert’s care the youngster remained silent, only daring to answer Javert’s offers of food and water with minute nods of the head, not that Javert himself was too bothered; he’d make his queries and the boy would be as any other child when back in the arms of his parents. That was one night, one which soon became the next and the next. Winter thickened then thinned into spring before Javert dared to address the likely possibility that there were no waiting open arms for this child. The boy’s silence too, slowly bloomed like a fresh flower into noises and when clasped on the cusp of opening wide in colour and expression, halted and failed to morph into anything intelligible to Javert’s ears. Ever a man of practicality, Javert cleared the desk in his study and laid upon it a single piece of paper and a fountain pen. Scanning the room in his practiced manner he spied the child perched precariously on the ledge of the casement window, gazing up at the speckled sky. Javert crouched beside him, wrapping a securing arm around the boy’s nourished waist. With one of those unfathomable sounds that Javert had become accustomed to, the boy pointed to the bright orb adorning the night sky.

“That is the moon.”

The boy looked directly at Javert, the silver light brightening his brown eyes.

“Moon.” Javert tried again.

“M-m-moon” the boy emulated, relishing the way his mouth moved and shaped the word. “Moon.”

Javert’s lips tugged into a smile; the building blocks of the alphabet could wait another day.

In time the sticky heat of summer saturated every crevice of France and Javert had equally flooded the boy’s being with new words. Among them a noun appeared and stayed around as accidentally as the boy himself: his name, Gavroche. Javert had immediately snapped his jaw shut and soundlessly cursed himself as he drained the last of his strong coffee. And yet, the fresh sap beneath the cracked bark of his heart knew it was endearingly right. ‘Endearing’ turned out to be another new word which, like a thief into a house, crept unseen into Javert’s vocabulary and lodged itself there. It roused itself from the slumber of his subconscious each time Gavroche committed an act to fit this description with aptness: parading around their lodgings with Javert’s hat skewwhiff atop his head and cudgel poking from under his arm or flashing a cynical glare to an unfortunate law-breaker trembling under Javert’s intensive questioning. 

Javert was soon to learn another new word: it had been a chiefly trying day at the station, with a trying chief, incidentally, and a number of other new words that Javert had to instruct Gavroche not to repeat. Javert was in his usual position of being hunched over his desk, which was framed with paperwork and stamped with a mug of coffee, steeping the room with its harsh scent. The scowl scored across Javert’s expression and his fingers drumming at his temples were not things Gavroche was ignorant of; mimicking the agility of a primate, Gavroche braced his weight between the armrest of Javert’s chair and the more sturdy support of his desk and swung himself upwards, landing with a thump into Javert’s lap.

“What are you playing at, Gavroche?” Javert’s irritation manifested itself as a near-snarl.

Gavroche look directly at Javert, his eyes big, smile, wide and chest puffed out, “I learnt a new word, DaDa.”

“Not no-”

Javert didn’t get to finish his reproach before two strong arms encompassed his neck, a tad more tightly than Javert wanted. “Love…I love you, DaDa.”


	6. Sing Away the Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Valjean's away, so it's Quastvert who has to calm down and soothe Cosette back to sleep when she has a nightmare about the Thenardiers. Bonus if there is singing, double bonus if it's one of the songs Quast has sung (maybe Race you to the top of the morning?).

The scream was cruel, trembling the air and frosting Javert’s blood the moment it jerked him from his book and the snug fireside. The book in its hard jacket had barely thudded to the dull wood floor before Javert, accompanied by his broad shadow and quivering candlelight, sprinted up the steps, two a time.

Javert creaked the door open: “Cosette?” Javert questioned, his baritone genial.

He held the candlestick higher spotlighting the room in a hushed yellow. Shadows fringed the edge, dancing to the beat of the candle, choreographed near perfectly to the reedy girl centred in the bed. “Madame, no,” Cosette’s thin arms raised upwards, the scar that snaked the skin there basked in the candle sun, her wrists arrested in the linen sheets. “PleaseMadameI’llbegoodI’llbegood!”

Another harsh cry knifed the air and Javert’s heart, pinning straight through his being and holding him momentarily immobile. Even from the threshold he could see that she was only awake to a world away from this one; a dark abyss from which she needed to be pulled away and soothed.

“God, Jean,” he muttered as he dragged his hand over his tear-clouded eyes and shocked features, only able to wish that his absent partner with all his saintly qualities could hear him. “How do you bear to see her like this?” Now though there was no Jean for tonight, no Jean to pat him on the shoulder and tell him to go back to sleep, no Jean to comfort their daughter. Javert set down the silver candleholder and crouched beside his daughter’s bed, caring nothing for the brutal press of the floor against his knees. “Darling… Hush now, sweetheart” he spoke softly into Cosette’s feathery blonde hair, fearful of frightening her further.

“Don’tbeatmedon’tbeatme!” Cosette cried out again, her small fists bouncing against Javert’s broad chest several times before her eyes opened wide with fright. Javert trying to imagine what Cosette is envisaging 

“It was a dream Ma Petite. Just a dream.” He held her, hugged her, squeezed her, kissed her. “You’re safe now” he told her with deliberate slowness as he moved onto the bed and gathered the trembling child, blankets and all, in his arms and pulled her close. More description of positions He settled her into his lap and held her snug in his arms, hushing and whispering all the while; a soothing mantra that was punctuated only by the little girl’s cries and that sharp snag in his throat. The candle had shrunk, burned noticeably lower by the time Cosette had calmed; her tears had dried, the rise and fall of her chest was steady once again and her fingers were sleepily twirling curls into his queue as she was often wont to do. “Shall I tuck you into bed, darling?”

Cosette gave a slow nod of her head. Javert shoved the bundle of blankets aside before Cosette crawled from his lap and snuggled deep into the mattress. He drew the sheet up to her chin and tucked it securely under her shoulders the way Jean did each night.

“Father,” Cosette wriggled a hand free and caught hold of the tips of his fingers – feel like. “Can you sing that song? The one about the maid and the dragon.” Her eyes widened again. “I like hearing you sing.”

A soft smile traced over Javert’s lips. “Now, let’s see…” Javert begun as he righted the blankets around Cosette once more, “…the hideous dragon had carried the maid to his cave by moonlight…” He perched on the edge of her bed, his upper body twisted towards her and a gentle hand rubbed over her covered legs as his speech blended into song: “I said someone must save this sweet blonde-haired maiden, though surely the cost will be steep…” 

“Me.” Cosette grinned drowsily at Javert’s amendment to the lyrics.

“You.” He paused in his singing for a moment to concur. “So, I picked up my staff and I followed the trail…” Javert continued, watching all the while as Cosette’s eyes became heavy with sleep and eventually slid shut. Even as he rose to his feet and picked up the candlestick Javert continued to sing, not stopping until he had reached the end of the song and the other side of the door: “…so be brave, girl, and know that I long to race you to the top of the morning! Come, sit on my shoulders and ride. Run and hide, I'll come and find you, climb hills to remind you, I love you, my dear at my side!”

His last melodious note fluttered away and Javert sagged momentarily against the door, releasing a sigh as heavy as his heart.


	7. A Birthday Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Quast!vert telling little Cosette the 'King's New Clothes' story. Song and all. Brownie points for you kids to work with! 1. If it's Cosette's birthday party, 2. The magician somehow didn't make it to the party, 3. Javert decides to tell the story with song and all to distract a horde of angry kids. Because hell hath no fury like that of an angry mob of children.

“Fetch a coat or blanket, Jean – something I can use as a cape.” Javert instructed as he picked up an orange paper crown that had fallen forgotten onto the floor. 

Puzzled but unquestioning Jean headed upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, and returned minutes later with a woollen blue blanket snatched from the end of their bed.   
“What are you -” 

“I won’t see Cosette upset on her birthday, and I know you won’t either.” Javert swished the blanket over his head and hung it from his wide shoulders. “Now, if the magician can’t make it we’ll just have to conjure our own entertainment for them.” He left Jean in a wake of mystery as he strode towards the childish chatter of the party bubbling from the living room. Jean stood there for a moment, hearing only Javert’s voice and trying to construct a picture of the scene:

“Once upon a time there was a king who was absolutely insane about new clothes.”

There were cries of laughter and calls of ‘look’ and Jean envisaged Javert looking down at the smiling faces as he paraded between them – maybe it would improve even Jacques’ mood as he recalled those crossed arms and crossed features on being told that the magician had done a very different disappearing act to the one they were hoping for.

“One day, two swindlers came to the king to sell him what they said was a magic suit of clothes...” Javert’s voice drifted into Jean’s musing as Javert shared the motives of the sinister swindlers. "I see" Javert sounded thoughtful to Jean’s ears and he could imagine him touching a finger to his lips. Jean crept towards the door of the living room and noted Javert’s voice too had deepened a little as though he had assumed the role of the King. “And naturally, since he didn't want to appear a fool, he said...” 

Jean peered around the door to find Javert – his partner, lover, one half of his perfect world – with his crown still atop his head and blanket dangling from his shoulders, balanced on a chair (which only served to make his six foot plus frame all the more imposing). He giggled for a moment until Javert’s smooth baritone burst into song: 

“Isn't it grand? Isn't it fine? Look at the cut, the style, the line! The suit of clothes is altogether, but altogether it's altogether the most remarkable suit of clothes that I have ever seen!” Here Javert yanked his make-shift cape free and tossed to the floor. “These eyes of mine at once determined the sleeves are velvet,” he swept a large hand along an imaginary sleeve before swathing himself the rest of the imaginary costume: “the cape is ermine, the hose are blue and the doublet is a lovely shade of green. Somebody send for the Queen.” 

Jean dropped his gaze from Javert to the children, who were all enraptured, with wide eyes and equally wide smiles, and giggling. It got louder then and above it floated Cosette’s voice and a chuckling comment about her daddy wearing a dress. Jean’s eyes snapped back to Javert at that and was soon laughing heartedly when he found Javert had seized the blanket once more and had tied it around his torso as a crude frock. 

Javert had thrown himself into it fully by now as he continued with the narrative in a voice that was soft, feminine and high in his throat: "Well, isn't it oh,” a hand touched lightly to his chest, “isn't it rich,” now a touch to his cheeks, delighted, “look at the charm of every stitch. The suit of clothes is altogether, but altogether it's altogether the most remarkable suit of clothes that I have ever seen. These eyes of mine at once determined the sleeves are velvet,” Javert had stepped beside the vacated chair and was now examining the invisible king in his equally invisible clothes with awe. “The cape is ermine, the hose are blue and the doublet is a lovely shade of green. Summon the court to convene!” he rounded it off with a click of his fingers. 

Javert peeled the blanket from his body as he described the court and the reaction of the King’s new outfit. "Isn't it ohhh,” Javert reached out to one of Cosette’s friend’s – he was pretty certain her name was Lola – and guided her hands to clasp over her mouth in shock. Hugo was next – “Isn't it ahhh!” – as Javert coaxed him to put his hands to his face as though frightened and gaining another bright laugh from the children. And finally with a “isn't it absolutely wheee!” Javert had Claudette throw her tiny hands high up in the air.  
Javert showed little signs of breathlessness as he pressed on with the same fervour that he had begun with. He repositioned the chair, away from the wall, then mimed sliding on gloves of leather then a hat with feather. “It's altogether the thing to wear in Saturday's parade” he swooped a hand over his invisible costume. 

Jean was as mesmerized as the children by Javert’s antics. He watched with curiosity as the man he loved first tugged an illusory cannon across the living room, processed back in the opposite direction in a regimented march with the fictitious infantry, then boldly galloped with the cavalry towards the chair before his long legs frog-leapt the bulk of his body over it and on landing squarely on his feet Javert instantly became the king, much to the mad cheers of Cosette and her friends, and even her Papa. 

Their joy quietened when Javert’s voice turned careful: “...Except one little boy – he hadn't been told about the magic suit and he didn't know what he was supposed to see, so when the King came by the little boy looked, horrified,” Javert extended a hand, imitated a tremble and weakened his voice to that of a nervous child: 

“L-l-l-l-l-l-l-look at the King,” he stuttered, “look at the King, look at the King, the King, the King! The King is in the altogether, but altogether the altogether, he's altogether as naked as the day that he was born.” That small voice held through “the King is in the altogether, but all together....” rising now into an incredulous crescendo, “it's all together the very least the King has ever worn!” Javert amused the young crowd further by leaping fully onto the chair as he sung and on reaching “he's altogether as naked as the day that he was born!” he gave a scream, playful and surprisingly girlish, as his hands flew to cover his crotch.

The children, many red-faced and one or two emitting tears of joy, could still be heard laughing as Javert stepped carefully off the chair and gathered up the blanket. As he left the room Jean followed him, grinning wildly. 

“You...” Jean’s words fell away as he reached up and lifted the crown from Javert’s head and rewarded him with a peck on the cheek. “I know you won’t have it, but you really are a natural with children, Mon Cher.” 

“It was nothing, Jean. I merely -” Javert’s words were abruptly halted as a pair of arms glomped his waist from behind. “Oomph!” 

“That was brilliant, daddy!” 

Jean took the blanket from Javert’s hand, allowing him to reach down and lift their daughter into his arms. She hooked her arms around his thick neck and kissed him, sloppily.

“Told you.” Jean smirked. He folded the blanket and draped it over the bannister of the stairs as Javert brushed a kiss across Cosette’s cheek. 

“Can we have cake now?” Cosette pulled back, looking between them with wide eyes. “Please!”

“Good idea, Cosette.” Javert stooped and set her back down. “All that singing has made me hungry.” He gave her hair a light ruffle before she ducked away and ran towards the garden in search of her friends. 

He was aware of Jean behind him then felt his partner place a hand on his hip. “I hope you have more of those stories in your repertoire, Javert,” Jean spoke huskily into his ear, smiling against his cheek, “one that you can tell me tonight, with actions of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't take credit for Quast!vert leap-frogging he chair or jumping on the chair and clapping his hands to his crotch...Quast did those very things himself when performing the song and I just borrowed the illusions.


	8. Twice as Delightful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt which requested Valvert domestic fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by the Royal birth earlier this year (not that I identify as a Royalist though) and the lack of coverage of proper news for several hours (I just did the head-shaking and eye-rolling, especially when the newscaster began his broadcast with 'the news today is that there is no news'!).

Javert pushed the coarse tips of his fingers against his forehead as he allowed his sigh to escape in a controlled manner; deep and through his nose. He had stationed himself in the study little under an hour ago and his alp of paperwork towered high still. Valjean – ‘he’s trying to be helpful,’ Javert had chanted to himself – had swept into the room several times with offerings of coffee, cake, the morning newspaper, all of which had been dismissed with a wave of Javert’s hand and a grunt. 

“Valjean,” Javert’s exasperation was barely concealed with this latest visit. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but there is work I need to be getting on with. Contrary to popular belief, not all of us use the phrase ‘work from home’ as a euphemism for doing bugger all.”

Valjean had his gaze locked on his mobile as he spoke: “Javert, you are the last person I know who would ever think to use the phrase ‘work from home’ euphemistically.” He looked at Javert now, and held up his phone as he did so. “I just came to tell you Marius called to say he’s taking Cosette to the hospital.”

Javert, knowing fully what that meant, groaned loudly as he rested his head on the desk. “Please don’t tell me you want to go and be with her.” Javert didn’t look up; he couldn’t even begin to entertain the thought of being stuck on a maternity ward with a pacing Valjean and a hand-wringing Marius.

“No.” Valjean answered simply. “I’ve just told him to keep us informed.”

Javert dared to raise his head and watched as Valjean left and closed the door behind him. He paused for a moment and wondered whether he should actually leave Valjean to his own devices, knowing the man was probably not feeling quite as calm as he looked. The paperwork in his peripheral vision caused him to reconsider: Valjean had plenty to distract himself with – cooking dinner, gardening – and Cosette was in one of the finest hospitals in Paris and, if the girl had any sense, drugged to the eyeballs by now. No, he said he’d be working from home and work is what he would do. Javert had just finished reading the first report and picked up his fountain pen when the door opened with a reverberating clank:

“She’s having contractions!” 

Javert quirked a thick eyebrow upwards as he simultaneously set his fountain pen down. “That is generally what happens when one is in labour, Jean.” He clasped his hands together on the desk in front of him as he looked directly at Jean, mobile phone still cemented to his hand. “Marius’ powers of observation are quite remarkable – my junior officers could learn a thing or two from him.”

“Javert.” Valjean chided softly, unable to stop his lips curving into a smile. “The boy is probably feeling a little helpless right now, that’s all.”

Javert’s expression held its sardonic air as he reached for his pen again.

“I get the hint.” Valjean grinned as he exited the study once more. 

Javert soon settled into a rhythm; reading, making notes, scrawling his name. Javert picked up another report, adjusted his spectacles to sit further down his nose, and leant back in his chair, suckling thoughtfully on the end of his pen. He became so engrossed that his usually sharp instincts were taken by surprise when his animated and somewhat agitated partner burst into the room once more:

“Her water’s broke!”

Javert jolted visibly, causing the pen to jab hard into the supple flesh of his lips. “JEAN!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Valjean mumbled sheepishly as he watched Javert press his fingers tenderly to his lips.

“It’s fine.” Javert replied, inspecting the tips of his fingers for blood.

“I said-” 

“I heard you” Javert said. “A running commentary really isn’t necessary, Jean.” Javert hoped that would be enough before it descended into mentions of dilation and forceps and a multitude of other things Javert didn’t want to think about – he hadn’t coped well that time Valjean tried to get him to watch an episode of _Call the Midwife_. “I know you’re anxious and excited, Jean,” Javert moderated his tone, “but you need to calm down; Cosette isn’t the first woman to go through this and Marius is with her to hol- well, Marius is with her.”

“I know,” Valjean conceded, “It’s just she’s my – _our_ – angel and if anything were to-”

Javert slid his glasses off as he got up and walked over to his partner. “Now, none of that.” Javert’s arm was around Valjean’s shoulder and he murmured quietly into Valjean’s greying temple. “You’ll be reading bedtime stories and playing hide and seek and begging me to take charge before you know it.” 

Javert dismissed Valjean with a sweep of a kiss to his cheek then perched his glasses on his nose and resumed his work. Hour by hour the paper pile gradually dwindled until there were just several slivers of paper, which Javert deemed could wait until later than evening, once he and Jean had eaten. He was about to open the blinds to allow the warm evening sun to saturate the room when Valjean walked in, his manner now sedate.

“I’ve had another message from Marius.”

Javert tweaked the blinds causing the sunlight to catch his profile and highlight the blonde hues threaded in his greying hair. “What does he have to say this time?”

“I don’t know. I can’t understand a word of what he has written.”

Javert held his hand out: “Let me see.”

Valjean surrendered his phone to Javert, who gazed at the jumble of unfathomable text in evident puzzlement and delivered his verdict seconds later: “Has he been at the drugs? Not even my best code-breakers could make sense of this.”

“Do you suppose everything is alright? I mean should I call-?”

Javert ignored Valjean’s continued protestations to push past him and consign the phone to the highest spot on the bookshelf – where Valjean couldn’t reach without help – at the far side of the room. “If it were urgent Marius would have called, not sent a text, Jean.”

“Javert! What is the meaning-?”

“Hush now,” Javert lowered the timbre of his voice as crossed back to his lover and began manipulating Valjean’s shoulders with his strong hands, “You can have it back later. You’ve been on edge all day.”

From there Javert’s torturously measured ministrations had gradually inched their way down Valjean’s body; clothing had been rucked, rumpled and, where necessary, discarded, and touches went beyond hands and fingers to kisses, licks and sucks. Javert was rolling the pads of his fingers into Valjean’s spine and trailing kisses over his freshly-scraped jaw when the phone chimed with news once again. Valjean made to shake Javert off, as though a magnet repelling its equal. 

“Stay.” Javert ordered with a husky voice as he went to retrieve the mobile. 

“What does it say?” 

“Give me a mi-” Javert only looked at the screen once before he sprawled to the floor in a graceless faint. 

Valjean, eyes wide in horror, careened to where Javert was spread-eagled and snatched the phone from his limp hand. His heart swelled as he read the text:

IT’S TWINS!


	9. There's a bear in there, and Javert as well...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: 
> 
> Prompted because I just fell of my chair laughing at Quast's antics [on Play School]. Valjean always accepted that Javert was stern, only the barest flicker of fun and humour. Then Cosette, Marius and their children end up going to Australia for a while, and who do they see on a children's program. Valjean in hysterics of laughter please, and Javert having to explain, or fail too.

From the moment it had been planned, Valjean knew it wasn’t going to be an easy holiday – Cosette, Marius, their three young children (including a newborn) and Javert in close confines for three weeks and in the wilting heat of the Australian summer was a doorway to a delightful form of hell. Javert, on the other hand, would do away with the word delightful. Nor was his mood helped by the fact that the reason they found themselves in Australia in the first instance was because he’d been seconded there on work (‘We’ll come and visit’ Cosette, rather pregnant at the time, suggested. Valjean and Marius had instantly seconded the idea before Javert could squeeze in a scowl yet alone protest that there really was no need). Valjean, for all his fears, had thought the holiday going better than he had ever dared hope and Javert in particular was weathering it well…until now. He’d been waiting for the cracks to show and now they were, just not in a fashion he had ever envisaged. 

On this particular morning, a Thursday, Valjean had found himself about to turn away from the bathroom, which he was sure Javert was currently occupying, when he heard the strangest of things, namely joyful singing. “Rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub-dub” followed by a cheerful whoop, then another string of rub-a-dubs. Valjean lifted a hesitant hand, ready to knock and make enquires on the health and sanity of the being within. Yet the thin voice of his conscience wheedled to the fore and started a debate: ‘Are you sure it’s not Marius?’, ‘Can you really imagine Javert doing such a thing – and whooping?!’, ‘Which is more likely – that loveable but rather doltish son-in-law doing it, or your stern and oh-so-serious boyfriend?’ Put like that Valjean dropped his hand and headed for the living area. 

Valjean was in the midst of preparing breakfast when Cosette, hair mussed and sleepy eyed, padded into the kitchenette. 

“Smells good” she remarked as Valjean fished the bread from the toaster. 

“Here” her father handed Cosette a plate stacked with two lightly toasted slices, “I managed not to burn these.”

Cosette took the plate from him with a thank you, then cast a guarded glance to the door at the far side of the room before turning back to her father, “Is all well with Javert, Papa?”

“I think so, my dear.” Valjean scraped a wedge of butter across the toast pinned down in front him, “I’ve not seen him yet this morning, but he was well enough when we went to bed, why?”

Cosette spoke around a mouthful of toast: “I was sure I heard him in the bedroom – singing.” She took another bite, “Something about putting his shoe on his nose.”

Valjean felt his shoulders stiffen slightly. “Are you sure it wasn’t Marius – perhaps singing to one of the children? Especially given the incident a few weeks ago.”

“Papa,” Cosette sounded a little exasperated, “Marius really didn’t mean to put Adela’s dress on Petite-Jean. Anyway,” another mouthful of toast, “the voice sounded deeper, manlier. You know Marius doesn’t sing like that.”

Valjean was about to impart his encounter with the unidentified songster when two childish whirlwinds in the shape of six year old Ninon (‘She must still be feeling the effects of the drugs’ Javert had remarked when told of the Cosette’s name choice shortly after the child’s birth. ‘It means Grace,’ Valjean tried to smooth over his own bemusement of the name) and Petite-Jean (Ninon’s twin) blustered through followed by the super-tornado that was Javert. The children had heralded their presence with cries of ‘Morning Mama, Morning Grand-Papa’, whilst Javert opted for a more traditional growl.

“Good morning, ducklings, “Cosette hugged her children to her, “did you sleep well?”

“I dreamt I climbed a mountain,” Petite-Jean explained excitedly, “A huge mountain – almost as tall as Javert! And there was a dragon at the top and I had to fight him and he looked grumpy, like Javert does now.”

Valjean could barely supress his mirth, “That’s because the dragon hadn’t had his morning coffee,” Valjean slid a mug of steaming, dark liquid across to Javert, who now wore an obvious scowl.

“Can I go and watch Playschool, Mama?” Ninon asked as she wriggled from her mother’s lap. 

Javert visibly baulked. “Come Ninon,” he stood and reached for the little girl’s hand, “And you, Petite-Jean, let’s go out into the garden – I’m sure I’ve just seen that dragon you dreamt of, hiding behind the Eucalyptus tree.” And with that he headed for the garden, flanked by the children, leaving a confused Valjean and Cosette in his wake. 

“Finished playing mother?” Valjean asked when Javert returned ten minutes later; his tone acquired an icy edge. 

“I just don’t think they should be wasting their holiday watching grown men and women regress to three year olds,” Javert took a large gulp of lukewarm coffee, “Besides, it’ll be too hot for them to be out later,”

Valjean persisted, “You didn’t give Cosette a chance – she’s perfectly capable of caring for her children, Javert.”

“No, papa, it’s okay,” Cosette squeezed his hand in an effort to defuse the tension, “I’m sure Javert meant well.”

Valjean glowered as Javert turned to Cosette. “My apologies, Cosette,” he swept up his plate and mug, “I shall not interfere again,” and with that he dropped the items heavily into the sink, splashing foamy bubbles up into his face. He forced all his concentration onto the task at hand and only bothered to break from it when Marius joined the dining table and a conversation that took his interest struck up.

“I’m being honest, Cosette, it wasn’t me who was singing in the bathroom this morning. I don’t know any songs about shoes on noses or scrub-a-dub-dubbing.”

“Rub-a-dub-dubbing.” Javert corrected, causing the three other adults to look at him, leaning against the sink, tea-towel casually slung over his shoulder. “All investigations rely on the details being accurate.”

“This feels like the Cookie Incident all over again.” Marius said, sounding sad.

“I never did discover who stole them from the cookie jar.” Javert folded his arms across his chest, which Marius swore had had puffed out.

“Well, it wasn’t me then and it’s not me now.”

“Then who did steal the cookies from the cookie jar?! And who was doing Nursery Rhymes at Bath Time this morning?!” Javert’s voice had taken on one of his trademark growls as his hackles rose at these unsolved mysteries. 

“You can tell us if it was you, Marius,” Cosette patted his shoulder with one hand whilst the other cradled Adela. 

“Honestly, darling, it wasn’t me; you say it wasn’t you; we all know your father is practically a saint-in-waiting, and in fact the only person I’ve not heard admit or deny it is Javert.”

“Truly Marius, I am the law and do not stoop to such childish levels.” The seething volcano erupted, and continued to pontificate such edicts for several long minutes. 

“You’ll be late for work, Javert.” Valjean placed a steadying hand on Javert’s trembling shoulder. 

They watched in silence as Javert stormed out and slammed the door behind him. Marius drew in a deep breath, “I take your point; it can’t be Javert.”

****

Thankfully for Javert nothing more was said of the singing (or of the resurrected Cookie Incident, for which Marius was thankful); Javert noted he had to be more careful about his behaviour, lest the others should discover his secret and the true reason he’d been sent Down Under to work in the first place. When all was quiet he rose in the night, stealthily slithering from Valjean’s slumbering grip and crept into the living area. He tipped around on his toes, lifted and placed things with the greatest of care and exerted much effort into being as silent as possible, setting things in place so he could begin working in the low light. Javert had been merrily working away for some time and was so occupied by his task that he was oblivious to the presence of Cosette and a whimpering Adela nestled to her shoulder.

“What on earth are you doing?” Cosette asked.

Javert hastily jumped to his feet, his imposing height towering over Cosette. He tried to act as though it was perfectly normal and reasonable to be stood in an apartment on the other side of the planet, in the middle of the night, surrounded by lengths of tissue paper, glue, reams of fabric, thread and a child’s hula-hoop. 

“Adela won’t settle,” Cosette explained whilst she surveyed the scene around Javert once more, “It looks like a bad fancy dress costume - are you going through some kind of life crisis again?”

Javert visibly winced at the ‘again – it was a life crisis that saw him end up with a failed suicide attempt and in the arms of Valjean. “It’s for work – I’m going undercover.” This was true, in a sense. He would, come tomorrow, be wearing the wretched thing he was trying to make, just not in the way that Cosette assumed he meant. 

“So what, you’re patrolling Bondi tomorrow and a jellyfish costume will be your way of trying to blend in? Or is it the invertebrates themselves that you’re after?”

“All criminals are spineless, Cosette.” Even Javert couldn’t supress a smirk at his terrible wordplay. 

“Right,” Cosette continued, bemused, “I’ll just warm some milk for Adela and will leave you to your…er…artistic endeavour.”

Javert looked at the result of a few hours of lost sleep and his handiwork and, giving a satisfactory click of his tongue, decided it would suffice. He snatched up the keys to this hire car and carried his creation out to the boot under the cover of the darkness, thankful his only witnesses were the stars. He dared not leave it in the apartment – if Valjean were to see it he’d not only want an explanation but wouldn’t let the matter drop until Javert had demonstrated how to wear such a thing. He’d been gone little more than a minute and on returning was greeted with a high pitched squall from Adela and Cosette trying to soothe her whilst simultaneously mopping up the river of milk that flowed over the granite worktop and down the cupboards. 

“Here, let me,” Javert motioned to take the cloth from Cosette, but was taken aback when she deposited Adela in his arms instead. It took him a moment to unfreeze and focus his mind on soothing the whimpering infant. “Now, Mademoiselle, why all this noise?” Javert summoned his baritone to be as tender as he could manage whilst he nestled her into the crook of his arm.

The babe continued regardless, paying no heed to the fact that she was in the charge of one of Paris’ most feared Inspectors. With a swift twist of his wrist, Javert unlocked the door that led into the garden and stepped, barefoot, into the warm night air. “Hush, now,” he lifted Adela and cuddled her to his shoulder, his large hand cradled her head and he swept a light kiss over her downy hair. He slowly paced around, nursing her and at some point, though he wasn’t able to say when, he had started to sing softly to her. 

“…dark blue sky you keep, whilst you through my curtains peep, for you never-” 

“Are you sure you’re not experiencing some form of life crisis?” Cosette cut a stage-whisper over Javert’s melodic crooning as she walked to the middle of the garden to join him.

“Truly, Cosette, I’m fine.” He nodded to Adela, still nuzzled against his shoulder, “Is she asleep?”

Cosette stood on the tips of her toes and craned her neck to peek at her daughter. The infant started back with wide eyes and a comforting fist in her mouth. “Actually, she’s wide awake. I think she may be enjoying your singing!” She cartooned a delighted expression at her daughter, “What else have you got in your repertoire?”

Javert thought for a moment before he struck up with a new tune: “I’m a little aeroplane on the ground, spin my propeller round and round,”

“Spin my propeller round and round?” Cosette repeated, “Is that an appropriate thing to be singing?”

Javert ignored her and his voice gained more force: “When I get all revved up watch me fly, down the runway into the sky!” He finished with an amusing attempt at imitating the noise of an airplane as he handed Adela back to her mother. “Time for a refuel, mademoiselle.”

Cosette, whose amusement was evident in her features, shook her head, “I wonder if you’re in the wrong job, Javert. I can’t imagine there being much call for the talent such as you’ve displayed tonight, as a Police Inspector.”

Javert smiled amiably, knowing what she didn’t know.

**** 

The day had been wonderful, even restful compared to the morning before. Javert had asked after Cosette and Adela, making a brief mention of their sleepless night, then went off to work whilst the three remaining adults had taken the children to the zoo. 

“Can we watch television?” Petite-Jean had asked not five minutes after they arrived home.

Marius looked between Petite-Jean and Ninon, who flanked either side of him. “I suppose,” he conceded. “But don’t tell Javert.” He added with an almost conspiratorial whisper.

It was the shouts – the loudest of all emanating from Marius – that brought Cosette and Valjean hurrying into the living area.

“What on earth-?”

“Javert killed the dinosaurs!” Petite-Jean gasped as he curled up with laughter.

“J-Javert!” Marius stuttered, “He’s on the TV.”

Valjean and his daughter swapped a look of folded arms, arched eyebrows and pursed lips.

“I assure you Marius, Javert is not on the television.” Valjean said. “What are you watching anyway?”

“Playschool.” Ninon chimed.

“Marius, please love, I hope this isn’t a repeat of the Theatre Incident.” Cosette warned, hands and a tea-towel now at her hips.

“Theatre incident?” Valjean questioned.

Cosette sucked in a breath, “Marius and I went to the theatre and one of the actors – Philip something - happened to look – and sound – almost exactly like Javert. Even when I showed Marius the cast list he wasn’t convinced.”

“It was uncanny,” Marius protested as he shuffled himself forward on the sofa, “except he showed more charisma.”

A small ‘Hmmm’ was all Valjean gave in response. 

“Anyway, look,” Marius swiped up the remote and rewound the programme from the point he had paused it, “Tell me that’s not Javert.”

Though they initially watched with scepticism both Valjean and Cosette had to eventually agree that, yes, the person they were watching singing and clapping and being merrily saccharine had to be Javert. He possessed the same cat-like blue eyes, the same strong jaw-line, those same unruly curls, the same resonant baritone, everything was the same right down to that blemish on the right side of his face.

“Oh, I hope he’s not having some sort of life-crisis again! Pulling him from the river was one thing, but how do I pull him out of this?” Valjean pressed his hand to his mouth, thoughtfully.

“No, papa.” Cosette said gently, “I asked him that very question twice yesterday and both times he assured me that’s not the case.” Cosette attempted a reassuring smile as she squeezed her father’s arm: “There’s probably a perfectly rational explanation for this.”

“Well, we’ll just have to ask him.” Valjean grinned.

And that’s exactly what they did. Javert, confused by the Valjean’s and Cosette’s odd behaviour, was summoned to sit at the dining table where they gunned their questions at him. 

“We just want an answer, Javert.” Valjean explained, trying to suppress a rising laugh, “Was that you we saw on television and if so, how?” 

“You can’t inquisit me!” he fired back, rage ablaze in his eyes.

“Is that your way of denying it?”

Javert looked his partner directly in the eye, “Oh, fine!” He freed the breath he’d been holding back. “It _was_ me – it was me singing yesterday morning, it was me on the television earlier, and the Jellyfish costume you caught me making,” he looked at Cosette, “was not because I spent the day at Bondi.” He sucked in another breath and slouched back on the chair, “I did not, however, kill the dinosaurs, steal the cookies from the cookie jar, or lie about this absurd situation but merely held it back from you to avoid this very situation I find myself in now.”

“Oh, Javert.” Valjean cooed, spying Cosette in his peripheral vision looking at her feet and pressing her lips tight together to tether a laugh dying to break free. “Why didn’t you tell uus of your career change?”

“I’m still a police inspector, Jean.” Javert snapped. “They seconded me to investigate a suspected corruption case – and doing so under the guise of an innocuous Children’s TV Presenter so not to raise suspicion. And, believe me, it was either this or donning a costume and pretending to be Big Ted.”

Valjean remained perplexed until the Inspector’s thin lips curved into a smirk.

“I’ve proved to have some natural aptitude for it, apparently.” 

Valjean laughed heartily at that.

“This is precisely why I didn’t tell you.” Javert grouched and rested his head on the table.

“Oh, hush now.” Valjean patted his shoulder. “Besides, I love you whether you’re pursuing hardened criminals or chasing imaginary sticks on children’s television.”

Javert would have admired Valjean’s sincerity all the more had the man not burst into laughter, and which was further compounded whenever Valjean tried to look at his partner in a serious manner. 

“Oh god, there’s more!” Marius, who had remained watching the television with his children, cried aghast. 

“I’ll see to him,” Cosette left to join Marius on the sofa. She soon called back: “Javert’s pretending to be dog!”

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References/Links/All the wonderful things that are not mine:
> 
> The title is taken from the Playschool theme, sung by Philip Quast, and which starts: ‘There’s a bear in there, and a chair as well…’ - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TNxBOmV9tUY
> 
> ‘Splish, Splash, Splosh’ - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=601l8gQ41Go
> 
> ‘Do you put your shoe on your nose?’ - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0SpR3ZyMhEM
> 
> Javert's Jellyfish costume - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sNTv8NKKzF0
> 
> ‘I’m A Little Areoplane’ - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zRhUnQJi1RY&list=PLAA2EA69D241A31AE&index=4
> 
> Dinosaurs/’Long, Long Ago’ - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lOvIVAaVuM
> 
> Dogs and Cats episode - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SOdfueRf1wg
> 
> With Big Ted - http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_kpCB6J-vW6Q/THE1MHEulZI/AAAAAAAAAOw/SiT2lyhG8mM/s1600/Aussie+Play+School+2.jpg


	10. New Year's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: 
> 
> Little Cosette, Jean/Quast!vert and New Year.  
> Cosette doesn't really understand what's going on I.E why here papa and Father are staying up so late. She's woken up in the night and brought down stairs, only to fall asleep on Javert's lap within five minutes. When the adults do go to bed, Javert's annoyed because fireworks mean he can't sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to warn for one mention of a violent incident and implied references to a death. I've not changed the rating, but let me know if you feel I ought. Also, I'm aware that it sounds like it doesn't fit strictly with the prompt but. for reasons I can't explain, I had the ideas in my head and was just led to run with it.

The Christmas lights twinkled steadily and the room, like a gentle brook, bubbled with conversation and music. Javert had blanched and refuted the idea of a New Year’s Eve party when Jean had first mentioned the idea, but now he found himself privately admitting that the evening was passing quite pleasantly. Javert held the chilled bottle firmly in his hand, gave the corkscrew a sharp tug and succeeded in pulling the stopper free with a dull pop. 

“Another?” he indicated to Claudette, Jean’s secretary, and who was tucked snugly against Jean on the chaise.

“Why not” she averted her rapt gaze from the screen of Jean’s I-Phone and held her glass out as she waited for Javert to fill it once more. “Thanks, darling.”

The small smile Jean flashed at the endearing term of address didn’t escape his partner’s notice; they both knew that Claudette was the only person who ever dared and could get away with referring to Javert as such. 

“Oh, this one here,” Jean drew Claudette’s attention back to the glow of the screen, “is Cosette and I on Christmas night.” Jean tilted the phone a little more to allow Claudette a proper view of the photo showing Cosette perched upon Jean’s knee, each wearing matching Giraffe onesies.

Claudette giggled and looked up at Javert as she did so, “Didn’t Santa leave one for you, Javert?”

“No, unfortunately.” Javert replied wryly as he tried not to think of that infernal piece of clothing that he had quickly buried in the depths of the wardrobe– clothing! As if it could be called such! “They don’t make them in Police Inspector sizes.”

“A shame – I think you would look quite dashing.” 

Claudette’s response caused Jean to choke back a laugh as Javert’s warm expression cooled to ice in nanoseconds. “I doubt Jean would agree.” He kept his voice even though allowed his eyes to look past Claudette and dart around the room. “Excuse me” he set the bottle on the side table as he spied his target – Suzette, one of his finest officers and a good friend to him and Jean after the night she had helped drag Javert from the river, sat the far end of the living room, slowly picking at the few crisps that were scattered on her plate. 

Fixed on her that he was, Javert didn’t see Dubois step back and out of the gathering that he had been circled in and the pair bumped awkwardly; Dubois’s bony shoulder into Javert’s broad chest and Dubois’ heel and near full body weight down onto Javert’s shoe. Javert gave a yelp loud enough to silence the room and have every head twist in his direction. 

“I’m fine” he winced, his voice pitched higher than he would have liked, as he hooked his throbbing left foot up to his right knee, balanced like burly flamingo, and rubbed the palm of his hand into the toe of his shoe as best he could. 

“Sorry Inspector.” Dubois mumbled, blushing as brightly as the lights that adorned the tree in the corner of the conservatory. “I didn’t see you there.”

“No need to apologise, Dubois.” Javert straightened back up though his expression remained twisted in discomfort still. “Let’s just be thankful you are wearing flats and not stilettoes.” 

Dubois chuckled at that, “I suppose, Sir.”

“You needn’t address me so formally here, Dubois – Javert will do.”

“Yes, Inspect- er, Javert.”

“Good.” Javert clapped Dubois on the shoulder and noted he was glowing rather red still. “Now, get yourself another drink, forget this ever happened and enjoy the night. It will be another three hundred and sixty-five days before you get to do this again.”

“Three hundred and sixty-six, in fact, Javert.”

Javert’s gaze had drifted and he immediately realised Suzette was nowhere to be seen. “What?” he replied, somewhat curtly, when Dubois’ voice distracted him.

“Next year is a leap year.”

“Ah, well spotted.” Javert clapped him on the shoulder once again, “Sorry, Dubois, there is someone I need to see.” 

Javert headed in the direction of where he had last spotted her, scanning and scrutinising the room and all its occupants as he did so. Though he hadn’t spotted her, he noticed her grey wool coat hooked over one of the dining room chairs and deduced that she hadn’t left yet. 

A voice Javert loved to hear spoke softly into his ear, “Enjoying myself, Mon Coeur?” 

“Claudette has put you down at last,” Javert half-smiled. He flicked a brief glance at Jean before surveying the room once again.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Jean assured him. “What’s on your mind?”

Javert shook his head slightly, which caused his unruly ribbons of curls to fall over his forehead. “I was looking for Suzi actually. I’m rather concerned about her.”

“Yes. She’s putting on a brave face, God bless her.” Jean’s expression fell solemn. “I need to fill the glasses ready for midnight – maybe she’s in the kitchen.”

Javert, only half-hearing Jean, felt his eyes widen as he saw the lithe, wobbly dart that was Claudette aim straight for them. “I’ll do it!” Javert volunteered rather quickly. “Claudette is ready for another round.” 

Javert didn’t wait for a response from Jean and only paused when he was several large steps down the hallway and heard Claudette’s wine-fuelled laugh cackle Jean’s name. He made a mental note that he owed Jean for sparing him before he continued to the kitchen. He opened the door, found the light on low and Suzette sat alone at the table. She jumped on seeing Javert’s tall frame shadowed in the doorway. 

“Oh.” She cleared her hair back with several swift swipes, revealing her red, wet-ringed eyes. “Sorry. I was just...”

“Stay,” Javert spoke low as he closed the door. “You’re not coping, are you?” he asked rhetorically as he joined her, knelt and took her cool, trembling hand between both of his.  
He stayed silent for several long minutes as soft sobs punched through the air; he was not sure of what else he could say. That night – a rampant gunman and three dead officers, including Suzi’s husband - He knew however bad the thoughts going through his head were right now, they were nothing to what Suzette would be thinking. Unsure of what else to do Javert leaned forward and drew Suzi into him; he was thankful for the past three years of raising Cosette and how she (and Jean) had taught him compassion. 

“Sorry,” Suzette straightened up in her chair at last and sighed heavily.

Javert shook his head a little. “You’ve nothing to apologise for.” He reached onto the table for the kitchen roll, tore a few squares and handed them to Suzette. “Here.”

He left her to compose herself once again and turned to filling the twenty-odd glasses with the champagne that had been chilling in the fridge. He only became aware of Suzette’s presence beside him when the scrunched ball of kitchen roll glanced the edges of his peripheral vision as it flew into the bin. 

“You know, if Richard were here he would have told me not to be so silly as to cry over him.” Suzette said as she watched Javert tip the golden liquid into the glasses. “And he would have freaked at the tear stain on your shirt.”

Javert spared the dark blue cloth covering his shoulder a momentary glance and smirked. “It’ll dry. I’ve had worse.” He filled another glass, his mind scrabbled like claws in soft sand for something to say next. Suzi gave him the opportunity by removing an empty glass from the tray patiently waiting its turn. “I need to fill that.”

“But I won’t be drinking it.” she placed the glass back in the cupboard she guessed it came from. 

“A glass of wine, then?” 

“Or that.” she replied as she walked to the door.

Javert paused, the bottle held in his hands in a near mid-tip, and looked in puzzlement at Suzi who was looking back at him; the tears shined in her dark eyes once more and her pearly teeth chewed at her lip. She spoke on the exhale of a deep breath: “I’m going to have Richard’s baby.” Suzette paused to allow Javert digest what she had just imparted. Her hand rested on the door handle as she spoke again: “Please don’t breathe a word to anyone else yet – except Jean – I don’t think I could handle it, not tonight at least.”

“I understand.” Javert nodded and hoped his features didn’t betray how surprised he felt. Suzette made to return to the party. “Suzi?” Javert called her back. “If you need anything....” 

“I know."

His heart warmed as Suzi gave what he knew to be her first genuine smile of the night before she left him to fill the remaining glasses. Outside, there came the burst of several fireworks and a snatched glance at the clock showed it was nearly five minutes to midnight. He heard the door open just as he reached into the fridge for the other bottle of champagne then proceeded to uncork it. “I’m going as fast as I can, Jean. I’ll be there in a-Oh!” he gasped in surprise when he found Cosette swathed in her favourite pink Barbie nightie and a one-eyed balding teddy clasped in her hand stood before him. 

“It’s too noisy, daddy.” Cosette grouched, not quite awake. 

He reached down for her: "It's alright, sweetheart." 

“Javert, are you ready with those glasses yet?” Jean walked into the kitchen. “Oh” his surprise echoed that of his partner’s when he saw Cosette, now in Javert’s arms, legs hooked around his waist and arms looped around his neck.

“I think the fireworks woke her up.” 

“That, or she didn’t want to miss the best bit of the party.” Jean smiled, brushing a kiss over his daughter’s blonde locks. He moved and picked up the tray of drinks. “Come on, it’s nearly midnight.” Jean looked back as Javert as he pulled the kitchen door closed: “You’ve filled one of these glasses with orange juice.”

“It for Suzi – she’s pregnant.” Javert explained, “Richard’s.” Javert supplied quickly at Jean’s evident confusion, “Nobody else is to know, yet.” 

The three of them re-joined their guests in the reception room; Jean charged himself with handing out the glasses and shuffling the couples towards the huge conservatory at the far end of the room, whilst Javert, with Cosette still wrapped about him, strode quickly past Claudette who was now draped around Dubois (Javert couldn’t help his chuckle) and over to Suzi, who was quietly watching from the corner. 

“Nobody gets left out at New Year.” 

Javert had to raise his voice to be heard over the rest of the room counting backwards from ten as he invited her to join Jean, Cosette and himself. Cosette wriggled awkwardly, protesting to be put down; Javert slid her down the length of his body and had her stand between him and Suzette as Jean flanked her opposite side of Suzette. Jean handed her and Javert their respective drinks as they reached the final seconds of the year and the first seconds of the New Year started with an eruption of cheers, hugs and kisses, party poppers and fireworks. 

“Daddy!” Cosette jerked suddenly at the noise and wound herself around Javert’s leg. 

“I’m right here, sweetheart.” He settled a hand on her shoulder and held her close, knowing that such a gesture often calmed her. “Look up there.” He pointed up at the glass ceiling of the conservatory where the fireworks could be seen to shower the night sky with colour. Cosette tilted her head and watched, momentarily mesmerised, until a loud bang followed and she turned away again. 

“I don’t like it.” She whimpered.

Suzi knelt and coaxed Cosette into her arms. “I don’t like fireworks, either.” She spoke with a crackling voice as she got to her feet and the shimmer in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed by Jean and Javert as she left the room. 

“Come on,” Jean spoke up after several minutes had passed and pulled Javert towards the door. “Let’s see if we can tempt her to dance.”

“Truly Suzi, you would be doing us a favour.” Javert insisted as they stood in the hall trying their best to better the evening for Suzette, if only a little. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

“And he’s already had his toes stepped on once tonight.” Jean added, holding his hand out to her.

Suzi pressed a small smile, something between reluctance and acquiescence Javert thought. “Okay, yes.” She put her hand in Jean’s own just as Javert reached to take hold of a very sleepy Cosette. 

Another upbeat song started as Javert padded to the kitchen where it was quieter and cooler. He twisted the dimmer switch on low and paced several slow laps around the perimeter of the room. Cosette remained draped over his shoulder; he never tired of a moment such as this where he could feel her gentle breaths and those fingers lazily spiralling his curls as he coaxed her to sleep. His ears picked up the slower music and he began to sing softly: “ _Sometimes I see how the brave new world arrives and I see how it thrives in the ashes of our lives_ ” He finished the lap and sat down on one of the chairs at the dining table. Cosette was dozing, verging on deeper sleep as he arranged her to lie comfortably in his arms before setting a steady rocking pace as he continued to sing: “ _Oh yes, man is a fool and he thinks he’ll be okay, dragging on, feet of clay, never knowing he’s astray, keeps on going anyway._ ” His voice became thick in his throat as the lyrics resonated with him more than he cared to admit and instead turned his attention to Cosette asleep in his arms, which only served to make sure the tears definitely pricked his eyes as he realised how lucky he was to have her and Jean in his life.

A firework popped and fizzed in the distance jolting Javert from his contemplation. He moved carefully so as not to wake Cosette and returned to the party; Jean was sat on the far side with Suzi, who once again had a genuine smile on her face (Javert had a strong suspicion those damnable onesies were responsible for providing the mirth), a handful of friends were attempting to conga around the room – if five people can even warrant being called a ‘conga line’ – and a small smattering lay sprawled on or against the seats with wine-crooked smiles and half-lidded eyes. He picked his way across the room for Jean to grace his daughter with a goodnight kiss before Javert took her back to bed. Once upstairs he drew the pink and purple flowers up to her shoulders, tucked the bedraggled teddy bear into her arm. Another firework burst apart, stirring Cosette to a half-awake state. 

“Sleep now, darling.” 

Javert stroked his palm over her hair then stretched out on the bed beside her; it was far from comfortable as he lay with his broad frame precariously perched on the edge and his ankles and feet dangling off the end of the tiny bed. He lay there for near thirty minutes as a continuous chorus of fireworks boomed outside, almost every one jolting Cosette from her slumber, but a soothing hand down her back or arm and she was asleep once again. The party had dwindled considerably by the time Javert got back to Jean; Claudette and several of Jean and Javert’s colleagues had moments earlier launched themselves into the streets, still in the party mood, and he made it down in time to see off Suzi.

Javert, now thoroughly exhausted, tucked himself into the corner of the chaise. He had barely settled himself when a breath prickled his neck:

“Is she gone?” 

The voice spooked a jolt through Javert and he quickly whipped his head around to find his junior officer peering over the top of the chaise. “God above, Dubois!”

“Sorry, Javert.” Dubois averted his eyes.

“What is this anyway? A one-man game of hide-and-seek?”

“Just hiding” Dubois slurred “from Claudette.” 

Javert chuckled as Jean walked back into the room: “Rest assured Dubois, she’s gone.” 

Dubois, hazy eyed and hair askew, crawled out from behind the chaise and flopped down besides his boss for a moment. He held his head in his hands and groaned. “Can I have tomorrow off? I think I will need to look after my hangover.” 

Javert narrowed his eyes: “New Year’s Day? When we’re down to skeleton staff as it is? You should have thought about that before consuming the amount of alcohol that you did.” 

“I know, Sir, uh I mean Javert, no Sir Javert.” He blushed then, “Sorry, Javert Sir, Javert.”

Javert remained quiet for a moment more before chuckling: “Of course you can have tomorrow off. Now,” he helped coax Dubois to his feet, “get yourself home whilst you still have a sliver of sense about you.”

“That was kind of you to give Dubois the day off.” Jean commented once Javert had seen Dubois safely off.

“Don’t be fooled, Jean,” Javert started as he collected the plates scattered about the conservatory, “Dubois already has leave booked for tomorrow – he just forgot about it.” 

Jean shook his head and smiled wryly to himself at his partner’s attitude. He picked up two unused glasses from the table, went to the kitchen to fill them with the remaining champagne then re-joined Javert, who by now had gathered most of the plates and glasses and stacked them on the table.

Jean stood in the middle of the conservatory where the lights still twinkled and ribbons of paper snaked colour over the wooden floor. “Mon Coeur.” Jean caught Javert’s attention and held the glass out to him. “Here...Happy New Year.”

With a smile, Javert joined him and took the glass. “Happy New Year.” He clinked his glass against Jean’s before pulling his partner into him and gracing him with a kiss. A loud thump caused them both to part with a jump. “Bloody fireworks.” Javert groaned, looking up in time to see a gold shower petering out, “I won’t sleep tonight if that racket continues.”

“No,” Jean tugged Javert back down to him, “but we can always create our own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics are from ABBA's 'Happy New Year'.
> 
> As for the onesie that Javert has buried in the wardrobe, I can promise that he hasn't escaped it that easily :-)

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little shout-out to those who prompted the scenarios that follow. I hope I've gone some way to fulfilling your requests.
> 
> At the moment I aim to keep adding to this collection of vignettes as and when the muse (or requests) strike.


End file.
